Page 22 of Before I Lost You

He shakes his head. “No, probably not.”

“I gotta go,” I mutter, getting up from the couch and running a hand over my face. My shoes are by the front door, and I slip them on in a rush, wanting to get out of here as soon as possible. “I’ll see you later.”

“I’m here for you, Conrad,” he tells me, but I just shake my head, not wanting to hear anything else that comes out of his mouth. He’s said enough—he doesn’t get it. He never will.

“Thanks,” is all I say as I leave his place.

The streets are busy at this time of day; the sidewalk packed with bodies that I dodge as I walk aimlessly. I’m not entirely sure where to go now, especially since Em and I were supposed to spend the evening together. I’m even dressed up for it. Navy-blue chino pants and a short-sleeved white linen shirt. Not quite fancy, but a little overdressed for the bar I have in mind.

My phone vibrates in my hand, and I stumble, hoping against all odds that it’s him. I steel myself for my heart to hurt a little more. Brace myself for the disappointment I’m sure is coming any second now. But as the unknown number flashes on my screen, all I feel is a little dizzy. I unlock my phone with facial recognition and stop in the middle of the sidewalk. People bump into me, shoulder-checking me as they pass me by, but I feel nothing. Nothing except hope for the first time in a long time. The sneaky, useless little feeling.

Unknown: Want to see something beautiful?

I frown, reading the text over and over again.

Me: Who is this?

Unknown: Should I be concerned that you’ve given your number to another man? Are you waiting on a call from someone else, too?

Me: Ken?

Unknown: Your one and only.

Your one and only.

My stomach does a stupid little cartwheel, and I glare at my screen. I want to demand an explanation, accuse him of playing me, and tell him I’m not playing his game anymore. Instead, I sigh and save his contact to my phone, unable to stop myself. I’m embarrassed to say I fold like a fucking lawn chair, because all I feel is relief when I should be pissed.

Me: How are you?

Kenny: Better now that I’m talking to you. I’ve missed you.

Three words shouldn’t shake me up this much, but my hands begin to tremble.

Me: Oh, I hadn’t noticed, considering you ghosted me.

There—it’s out. I can finally breathe again after getting it off my chest, but when he doesn’t reply for a full minute, I begin to panic.

Kenny: Let me make it up to you.

Me: How?

Kenny: Let me take you out again. Now. I’m at a rooftop bar. Come take pictures of the sunset with me.

Me: You want me to go out on a date with you after you didn’t call me?

Kenny: I’m doing it now, am I not?

Me: Unbelievable.

Kenny: I’m sorry, Conrad. I really am. I want to see you again. If you want to join me, I’ll send the address.

I don’t reply, but he doesn’t give up. Instead, he sends me the address of the rooftop bar. I contemplate what to do for all of thirty seconds, but when I put the address into my phone, I notice it’s actually just a few blocks from here. It’s pointless to pretend I don’t want to see him, but I still ask myself what I’d do if he stopped talking to me once more. I’m not sure I can survive it. Still, my feet carry me forward without my consent,and before I know it, I’m standing outside the entrance of the bar.

The air conditioning feels nice when I enter the establishment, and it looks even fancier than the other bars around my place. I’m grateful I dressed nicely as I walk slowly through the bar, looking around in awe. Its low lighting makes it feel intimate here, resembling a restaurant, its tables set up with two or four chairs. There’s a long bar with velvet barstools to my left, and a set of stairs to my right. I’m assuming the stairs lead to the rooftop, and so I go toward them. I stop short at the first step, considering my options. But I also know there’s nothing to consider—that I’m going to do this whether I want to or not. I have to see this through.

I walk hesitantly up the steps, my eyes adjusting to the light slowly when I open the door. There’s another bar up here, but it looks even more extravagant. It’s set up toward the back, and there are people ordering drinks and walking around. Most tables are occupied, and I briefly wonder where he is, but then I get a glimpse of golden hair at the far end of the rooftop, near the rail. He’s standing with a camera in his hands, and as I get closer, I can hear the shutter going off as he captures the setting sun once more. I can’t help but stare, enchanted by his otherworldly beauty. His posture is perfectly straight, and he carries himself with a confidence and poise I’ve never seen on anyone before. It’s fascinating to see him in his element, completely entranced and focused on what he’s doing. Seems he really is obsessed with sunsets. Seems I really am obsessed with him.

My hands grip the rail beside him, and I gaze at his profile—small nose, curved slightly upward at the tip, full lips that are set in an almost pout right now, a cleft in his chin. His eyes are focused even when he lowers his camera momentarily, the blue of them such a light shade that they’re almost transparent. I’venoticed that his eyes turn different shades depending on what he’s wearing, how the light hits them, and how he’s feeling. The sun makes them look lighter. Black suits make them brighter than ever. Arousal makes them darken until they look like the deepest parts of the ocean—places I’m not sure anyone has ever visited before.